


Dreambringer

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, endgame spoilers, fairytales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Regis couldn't say where the stories came from, or where the fairytales started. But he knew there was always an ending he preferred to see.Spoilers for Episode Ignis' alternative ending.





	Dreambringer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



No one really knew where the stories came from, or where the fairytales started. But Noct had always loved them— there were stories of heroes and villains, and the old kings and queens whose names he knew he should have remembered— but it was always these little stories of the Dreambringer that he had asked for. Regis tried to recite them from memories of his own childhood before he gave up and found an old book about the little creature. 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Noctis always seemed fond of the fluffy and cute things, fairytale creatures should be no different. 

“I believe he may have come from Tenebrae, or Galahd,” Regis answered one night as Noct traced the colourful picture in the positively ancient storybook. The long ears were a favourite fixation for his son— long ears and a longer tail— simple lines he would trace as Regis read the stories of ancient dreams and heroes and a little creature who protected both. 

“You don’t know?”

“As hard as it may be to believe, my boy, I don’t know everything.” 

He relished these nights. The quiet ones where he could sit with Noctis and read to him until he slept; or tell him adventures from his own youth, toned down from the bloody battles and difficult wars to tales of heroics and rites of passage. He preferred to settle as close as possible, his boy curled against him and dozing, tracing pictures as if it would summon the little creature to him. 

Carbuncle had always been a favourite. An easy story that brought the promise of good dreams. Dreams that Noct would recount over breakfast in the morning— his own little adventures. 

“He can’t be from Tenebrae,” Noctis said one evening, when he was too stiff to curl close, and the healing wounds still burned in protest despite the work of the Oracle. When they both feared the nightmares that waited for him, of towering oak trees set ablaze by irreverent Niflheim weapons, and fields of blue flowers crushed beneath the metal boots of a mechanical army. It was said as small hands clutched as a little toy figurine saved from the hell their haven had become by sheer luck of Noctis refusing to leave it behind. 

“Galahd then,” Regis knew not to press the issue. “Or perhaps Accordo? They do like their stories there, too.”

“Really?”

“Really. That’s where the Tidemother sleeps, as well.” The distraction was an easy one, something soft and innocent, leading to a new story that would douse the nightmares from his son’s mind. Tall tales of fish and gods, of the serpents sleeping beneath the dark waves and churning waters. Stories that wound and weaved through the night like the relentless tides, easing Noctis to sleep even as he held the little figure of an entirely different god close. 

Regis had never seen the little creature his son had grown so fond of. He simply knew the stories. Of the creature easing the passage from sleep to death, or leading the dying back to life. He had prayed that the little creature, the Dreambringer, would see fit for the latter rather than the former as its task with Noctis. He knew Carbuncle through his son’s stories over breakfast— the adventures to strange forests and great battles, with magics the sparked like fireworks or fell like bouncing meteors. All he knew of the little creature was that Noctis preferred those adventures to his own memories some days. 

“Would you like to see Ignis?” Regis asked most mornings as they finished their morning meal together, as he begged Clarus with a look to hold off his appointments for just a little longer. “I’m sure he misses you; you know how he worries.”

There was always that moment of hesitation, of concern and wavering fears. A moment of quiet where Regis was tempted to hold his breath as Noct made his decision. It was weeks of being home, of long, lonely days before Noct agreed to see his friend. Regis tried to understand the hesitation, the worry and fear and the weight of the scars that Noct now carried. He tried to understand the way his son’s young mind worked, with the reassurances from doctors that children his age were resilient, persistent, that Noctis was a tenacious little prince who would regain his good humour and easy nature soon. When the nightmares faded. 

And Regis thought that he had been patient. He thought that he had done all he could for his son. He spent the first few days close at hand, waking to his son’s soft whimpers and cried, as he struggled against suffocating blankets and memories of daemons and armies and pain. He thoughts that sitting with his child, holding him as best he can to not aggravate the wounds, had helped. That the nightmares and pain were fading. 

But Noctis still clutched that little figure, and still traced the line of those long ears as the storybook lay across their laps each night. 

The day Noctis agreed to see his friend— the concerned, fretful boy chosen as a companion— was the day Regis had hoped that things would start returning to normal. He visited them later, as he had missed dinner, but was advised that the boy would be spending the night at Noct’s request. He peeked into his son’s room, careful of the noise the old door could make, of his steps on the stone floors barely muffled by the carpets. He slipped in carefully, on his way to his own rooms, to make sure that his son was at ease. That their guest was not kept awake by the same hesitant whimpers and whispers if Noct’s nightmares that Regis himself had grown used to. 

He was surprised to see the little figure on Noct’s nightstand rather than clutched in his hand. The storybook closed and set aside as the boys slept, Ignis’ arms around his prince as if shielding him. He saw the shimmer of magic between them, a little creature of fairytales that seemed to be both there and not, curled in the small space. 

In the morning, they were still cuddled together, and Noctis smiled when Regis collected them for breakfast. 

“I believe Carbuncle might be from Tenebrae,” Ignis said with all the severity of a well-rested eleven year-old. He selected the spoon for his oatmeal carefully, sprinkled cinnamon and berries sparingly and in a precise ration for the milk. Even as Noct simply scooped spoonfuls of whatever was within reach into his own. “At least, I remember stories of it. A little guardian to help navigate the forests.”

“But then what about the dreams?” Noctis was more energetic than Regis had seen him in months, feet tapping the legs of his chair. 

“There’s a forest of dreamwood trees from your region,” Regis said, smiling as his son’s eyes widened and he begged his friend to know more. The chatter over the meal a promising sign of the recovery they had been assured would happen. 

Regis would think of that night and breakfast years later, when a treaty was proposed with a binding clause he could not refuse without jeopardising both peace and the wellbeing of two children whom he had failed in the past. He thought of the way Noct latched on to Ignis, kept him close and in his confidence as they got older, even as Noctis pushed everyone else away for a while. He would think back of the shimmer of magic between them, and wonder if this was a duty Ignis could stand by Noctis for; if it was a duty that Noctis could stomach. His decision would bind them both, and he prayed that there was a little creature— a god that had grown fond of Noctis— who would guide them where the Six refused. 

Before the terms of the treaty were fully announced to the public, Regis summoned Ignis first. Trusted Ignis to ease Noctis into the idea of his role in the peace, to turn it towards the promise of a long awaited reunion. He smiled as Ignis bowed to him, as he voiced his understanding and importance. 

“I’m sure Noctis will be pleased that there is at least a chance at peace.”

“It’s more a fairytale for the kingdom, you understand. A symbol of the union.”

“His Highness has always been fond of fairytales, Your Majesty.” It was said with a soft, fond smile. And Regis wanted to reassure the young man that whatever ways the path took them, it was with his blessing. He wanted to offer words of encouragement, thanks, of promise. He wanted to reassure the young man who had stood by Noctis since their childhood, that he understood the love Ignis had shown (there had been rumours, reports, soft words confirmed by Clarus’ more romantically inclined intuition and experience, and the joking stories told by Gladio). He wanted to offer his approval. 

Instead, Regis clapped Ignis on the shoulder and offered a smile; “Stay with him, Ignis. He will need you.”

“Always, Your Majesty.”

No one was really certain where the fairytale began. If the heroes came from Lucis or Tenebrae, or some other kingdom forged between the two. But Regis had seen it, as his son fulfilled his destiny, his friends at his side. He had seen the way Ignis, clutched at Noctis’ hand to steady him as the souls of those long dead loaned their strength, kneeling by the Lucian throne with soft words shattering between them. He had watched, as Ignis held Noctis as his own sword was the last; as the tether to the living refused to break, even as Noctis gasped his pain at the rush of power that would take him beyond the boundaries of life and death to cleanse Eos. 

Regis thought, as he watched from his own peace, that he preferred this story much more. As Noctis’ opened his eyes when his task was done, and Ignis held him. There was still a shimmer of magic between them, and the Dreambringer’s favour twisted through their fates.


End file.
